When Did You Start Believing In Impossible Heroes?
by Whouffle and Souffles
Summary: Danny is dead, and Clara is left grieving on, what she feels like, her own. The Doctor, intent on helping, decides to take her somewhere nice. But things are not all as they seem, and both are hiding something from the other. [Incomplete.]
1. Chapter 1

"When did you start believing in impossible heroes?"

The question resonated in her head and she started to think,

_When did Clara Oswald start believing in impossible heroes?_

Of course, her first conclusion is that it must have been her first trip to space, her first proper trip, when the Doctor had flung open the TARDIS doors and allowed her to take in the sight before her; to watch nebulae spiral and spin into life, and to watch as the darkness of never ending nothingness comes to life with a spark, and storm clouds of reds and yellows appear across the air in an explosion of creation. As new worlds form and old worlds die. When the first page of a book is written, a new story of a new life, a new species, begins, while another sentence is ended with a full stop, another chapter ends, and another book is closed. What she saw before her was the stuff of legends, a world where mythical creatures existed, in which Humanity lived in peace and in harmony with the Universe around it. As each spiral flared, Clara felt the blood racing round her body. It was as if the sky had become a canvas, and someone had painted it with perfect tones of every colour needed, and had added life and love, death and heartbreak. As though someone could recreate every emotion she was capable of feeling through the tip of a brush. The purples richer than the silk cloths of emperors, the red's burning brighter than the hottest fires. Blues and pinks and yellows swam through a sea of crimson, diving and resurfacing in the most enchanting of patterns. Each individual star seemed to sparkle brighter than the one next to it, as if competing for attention in the ever expanding horizon. The magic was the work of an Artisan. She was frozen in time, unable to take her gaze off the sight before her. Cold, deep, breaths echoed in the TARDIS and the Doctor, her Doctor, had stood behind her await her approval. That had to be the moment she had started believing in impossible heroes.

But it wasn't. Even if Clara believed that was the moment she started believing in such a thing, it wasn't. The cliché, romantic moment had, of course, touched her heart and changed the way she viewed everything, even herself. No, she started believing in impossible heroes long after that. When the man she knew and loved left her forever, when _her Doctor _left her, she began to believe. Because the new man, the grey-haired shouty old Scotsman who had replaced the young, caring and protective Time Lord she loved was still the same man. He still loved her; he still protected her and showed her wonders. He still saved Universes with her on his heels, but it a new way. In essence, he was still the same man, but with a new face.

And so she laughed at the question. How ridiculous of him to even ask when she started believing in impossible heroes. But she knew that he didn't know. The Doctor didn't think of himself as impossible, and he certainly didn't think of himself as a hero. Clara knew he was both, and deep down in her heart, she knew that she always would. She never replied, and not just because of her pride (and the Doctor's ego), but because she knew that what she said would change things. The Doctor would worry about her so much more. If he knew that he was her hero, he knew what that entailed. That she would risk her life to protect his in a heartbeat, and there was no way that he would let her do that. But still, even though she had sworn herself to silence as to an answer for the question, she thought of it often. Her immediate conclusions often changed, but she always settled on the last thought that entered her mind, that she started believing in impossible heroes when the man she loved became one.

The Doctor caught Clara off guard, smiling away into the distance as she had taken to recently. He didn't mind it; he liked seeing his companion, his friend, in such a happy state of mind. But at the same time, it filled him with bewilderment and curiosity. This version of him didn't seem to recall or understand how Human's emotions worked. However, each time he asked what was wrong with her, she would shake her head, look away, and seem somehow distant from him. So, as much as the Doctor wanted to ask about what she was thinking about, he didn't want his companion to hide away in herself again – something else she had taken to recently (although, he put this down to primarily still grieving over PE).

"So…" He began, his thick Scottish accent quickly bringing Clara out of her trance. He saw her expression change in a moment's notice, as if she was thinking of something that was far happier than where she was now. It made him feel guilty. Perhaps she _wanted _to be at home grieving with her family. They were far more emotionally aware of what to do, how to help her, and he could only distract her. But the Doctor was selfish, and he wanted Clara all to himself. So he pushed aside his guilt, deciding to deal with that later, and continued.

"Where shall we go today? I was thinking a picnic on the Lost Moon of Poosh." He suggested, seeing that Clara's expression took a change for the worse. Only momentarily did she let it slide that a picnic really wasn't what she wanted, but it was long enough for the Doctor to notice. "Or, we could go somewhere more exciting." The Doctor mused aloud, a hopeful smile growing on his face as he watched Clara. For the first time in their conversation, he saw a proper smile on her face, one that said adventure was the cure for whatever was upsetting her. Needing no more of an instruction, the Doctor starting pulling levers, pressing buttons, and hitting his hand hard against the console to try and make something work.

"Go to your room, there are some clothes there that'll be perfect. Just get changed, don't think about where they're from. It's a surprise, cheer you up a bit… Although, Human's tend to do the cheering up with flowers and chocolates, maybe I should invest in some flowers; brighten up the console room a bit. There's plenty of chocolates, but if I were you, I'd lay off the chocolates for a while."

Clara felt a small laugh escape her lips. Even at this time, during everything that she was going through, she couldn't help but smile at his insensitive words. They were normal, and meant so much more to her than the "_I'm sorry for your loss_" she had been hearing for the past few weeks. It was like a record stuck on repeat and she couldn't stand it anymore. With a nod and a fidget from her fingers, which had nicely and neatly kept her arms in place, folded across her hips, she walked away. With a final glance to his companion, the Doctor pulled down a leaver and felt the machine whirring into action. Each breath ran down his fingertips and he couldn't help but smile, looking up as everything around him started to move and burst into life as the machine took them exactly where they needed to go, though not _always _in the way that was most appropriate.

With a judder, the Doctor knew something was wrong. But before he had time to panic, everything seemed to go wrong at once.


	2. Chapter 2

The first Clara knew of anything being wrong, she had changed into the most beautiful robe she had ever seen, even more than the dress she had worn to see Robin Hood, or the clothing she had been given by Madame Vastra. The patterns of orange swirls and deep red silk billowing from her waist as a long skirt made her feel like royalty. In fact, the entire outfit, from the headdress to the intricate beading made her feel beautiful. She couldn't help herself from admiring how she looked in the mirror. It was something that could help her escape from what she was living in, a world without Danny. For a few hours, she could pretend to be someone else, from a new place in space and time. And she knew it would be such a fascinating, new, exciting, experience, that she wouldn't for a second think about the here and now, and she couldn't remain completely happy until the Doctor took her home.

As her hands traced the beading across her stomach, she felt the floor beneath her judder. Her arms flew out instinctively to keep her balance for a moment, before a more constant shuddering began. Quickly making her way over to her bed, she sat herself down in confusion and worry. It was like an earthquake, but _surely, _there was no such thing as a space-quake. Unless…

"Doctor-!" She called, throwing herself off the bed with the help of a particularly strong jolt, before starting to run towards the console room through a moving maze of corridors.

The sight before her when she finally managed to arrive made her take a series of panicked steps back, before she started to make her way closer to the console. Sparks were flying, and there were small fires melting the controls, filling the air with the smell of burning plastics and petrol fumes. After only moments, smoke was clouding the room, and a few deep breaths of the smoke caused Clara to start coughing. She had to wave her hand desperately in front of her face to see ever a few yards in front of her, trying to find the Doctor. He wasn't dashing around the console, trying to regain control of his beloved machine. So she started to.

From the little she could remember from what the Doctor had taught her, Clara started pulling and pressing everything she could, trying to at least land the TARDIS. Then she could focus on finding her friend, and making sure he was okay, before figuring out why they had crashed. As she made her way around the console, she felt a burning sensation running through her fingertips, but before she could pull it away, flames burst towards her and a booming blast knocking her back off her feet and into the bars before her. Her spine felt as though it snapped against the rails and as she fell to the floor, her eyes starting to close and everything around her fading into darkness.

# # #

When she stirred, what felt like hours later, she found that she had been moved from a crumpled heap on the floor to a chair at the side of the console room, something thrown over her as a makeshift blanket. She was grateful for being moved somewhere more comfortable, but wasn't quite sure how she'd gotten there. So with a small groan, she pushed herself upright and started focusing on whatever she could see - which wasn't much. The lights didn't look to be working, the console being lit up with torches and the glow from the tip of the sonic screwdriver. At the noise of her moving, the glow from the screwdriver went out and a shuffle of footsteps were heard approaching her. Unable to see the Doctor, she squinted a little to try to find him, but he did the work for her by standing in front of her and putting a hand to her forehead. Physical contact wasn't something he was terribly keen on, but he had to check his companion was okay. After just a few moments of touch, he decided she was fine, and he pulled away from her.

"We're going to have to go out for a while. Ship crashed, must've knocked into something else. Don't worry, we landed where we're meant to be. You'll fit right in." He said, taking his coat back from where he had rested it atop of her and slipping it on. Clara sat up and nodded, the lack of cover waking her up ever so slightly more. She held out a hand towards the Doctor and gestured for him to take it. Which he did, helping her to stand up slowly.

"Easy there, you took a nasty hit, don't want you falling. It won't do you any favours." He told her, Clara moving into his arms and leaning against him for support. He let her, deciding she probably needed the help enough for him to be able to refuse.

"What happened?" She asked softly, looking up at him as she started to flex her ankles and legs, waking up every muscle slowly and carefully in case something was hurt.

"I don't know. I found you on the floor and you looked hurt. You're not though, gave you a scan, nothing's broken." He reassured her, starting to move forwards slowly with her. "And you know how I feel about not knowing." The Doctor paused, looking at Clara who was still struggling a little. "Look, if you want to stay here and rest up, you can do. But I need to know. And, to be honest, you're just going to slow me down. We can come back another day, when you're more up to it." He said, helping Clara to sit back down. Even though she breathed a sigh of relief, she still looked at him in annoyance.

"I want to come." She said stubbornly, trying to stand herself back up. But pain shooting through her ankle meant she couldn't do that, and sat down again in defeat. "You said I hadn't broken anything."

"Probably just a twist, bruise, sprain. Nothing too serious." He shrugged off, giving her a gentle smile. "Just stay here, get some rest. I'll be back before you know it." He told her, making his way over to the door. The Doctor tossed her one of the torches on his way past before turning and looking at her, receiving a look that almost made him regenerate.

"Look, don't be so grumpy about it. I'll be back soon, and we can come back when you're feeling a bit better. I'm not having you out if you can't walk. It might get dangerous." He said sternly. As the pulled the door's inwards, the console room brightened significantly and Clara looked past him at the beautiful blue sky and sand coloured buildings. She wanted to go out with him and see what was going on, but she couldn't. So, disheartened, she slumped back in the chair and crossed her arms across her chest, watching as the Doctor walked out and left her alone in the dark.

**AN **Hope you guys are all enjoying the fic! I've had this idea for years (seriously, I wanted to write it as a serious Doctor Who novel and send it to the BBC when it was Amy, Rory, and 11) and I'm loving writing it now that I'm actually able to write better than, well, than my 11 year old self! Anyway, if you guys have spotted something that may be hidden away in the descriptions of each chapter, or have any comments, please leave a review and I'll get back to you!


	3. Chapter 3

The room was quiet. Cold, stone, arches covered the ceiling high above any man's reach. Holes in the walls allowed for the wind to sweep through at a speed, blowing a gust over the young prince's face. He lay upon his bed, staring at the intricacies of the stone work above his head, wondering about simple things. He didn't think of his duties to his father and to his country, just small things. He wondered what the glittering silver was, the small chips indented into the walls. He wondered why the sand was not blowing into his face. But none of this seemed to bother him; Xerxes was simply glad of a moment of peace and calm, allowing himself to think of such trivial matters. A light hearted chuckle escaped his lips. His father was yet again planning another invasion force, and he would soon be, once again, rewarded with the title of successor in case his father, for some reason, didn't return. Xerxes was all too fond of this idea, becoming the King of Persia was something that he was looking forward to; to being as powerful and as feared as his father. He could punish slaves and invade countries with no more than a moment's notice, an awful lot of planning, and an heir. Nothing could ruin his day.

Except, perhaps, a scream.

The sound waves bolted through the air, piercing it like lightening and roaring through the city. Xerxes wasn't concerned, he was far more focused on the fact that someone had dared to ruin his day. The peace and tranquillity soon vanished, forgotten, and upon standing up, a fiery rage grew in the man. As someone used to being in control and getting his way, the smallest of imperfections was enough to cause a storm in the man.

Marching through the palace he was residing in, Xerxes was already an unstoppable force. He was going to find and punish whoever had disturbed him, and it would not be a pretty sight when he was done.

However, when he arrived, it appeared that someone had done the job for him.

Knelt down over a body of some description was a man, dress in some sort of strangely coloured robe with a curious device pointing at the corpse and causing a wailing sound to ring through the air.

# # #

The air was fresh and crisp, and the Doctor breathed it in welcomingly. No longer was he trapped in the confines of a broken TARDIS, and he wasn't being slowed down by his companion. Of course, having Clara there would probably have been a much better alternative, for he knew his conscience would cease to exist in the case of him finding whatever had caused the TARDIS to crash in such a way. This was no problem for him, but Clara would certainly not approve if she were ever to find out.

Crouching close to the ground, the Doctor took his screwdriver from his pocket and in his other hand, picked up a handful of sand, slowly letting them run through gaps between his fingers for several moments, before his fist tightly clamped around the remaining grains. He lay his hand flat and opened up his palm, closely eyeing each grain as if it were to do something, before he scanned them. Nothing. With a casual poke of the tongue, he tasted them. Perhaps a little saltier than the sand he was used to, but that might have been the part of the world they were in, or perhaps even his palms. After all, it wasn't exactly a leisurely journey getting there. But still, he felt as though something was wrong, as if nearby, there would be a clue of some sorts. Maybe there would be a robot badly blending in to its ancient surroundings, or another crashed spaceship.

Then, a scream ripped through the air, and the Doctor's ears pricked. His head shot upwards and he stood, rotating on the spot to determine which direction the noise had come from. This was exactly the kind of clue he was looking for.

Darting off down an empty street, the Doctor ran towards what appeared to be a market. People – why were there _always _people? What he imagined to be a busy and bustling area was now a crowd of silent onlookers, watching as a woman spasmed on the floor. The Doctor, unlike everyone else, ran towards her and knelt by her side. No longer the kind and compassionate man he used to be, he simply watched on. He made a mental note of everything that she was doing. Of course, this could simply be a condition the woman had that he should really be helping her with, or it could be some time of alien. The Doctor preferred the latter, and if he wasn't, he didn't want to risk anything. He made a note of the silver scarring along her forehead, each and every crack of a bone breaking or joint unhinging, and down to the tiniest of details, such as which side of her mouth she seemed to be foaming from to a greater extent.

What felt like hours to him was probably no more than a few short minutes, in which time, the woman that he had found had now completely disappeared. In her place was a corpse, practically turned inside-out. Her skin had been completely torn apart, but she had lost very little blood. In fact, some still seemed to be pulsing through the blood vessels that had risen to the surface of her body. They were fluctuating in width as the blood manoeuvred through her. In curiosity, the Doctor pointed his sonic screwdriver at her and pressed down, a steady noise being produced. His expression hardened, brows furrowing and forehead creasing in confusion.

The crowd that had surrounded him silently now began to back away, a series of hushed whispers starting behind him. If that hadn't raised his attention (which, unfortunately, it hadn't), then the shadow cast over him would. Turning around to complain, the Doctor was surprised. With his mouth open to comment, he found that the man towering over him lifted up his leg and brought it smashing down towards his face, connection harshly with his lower jaw and knocking him back against the floor.

# # #

Clara was beginning to tire of the darkness surrounding her. The Doctor may have only been gone for a few minutes, half an hour at most, but she was still alone and cold in an alien ship. Her ankle didn't even hurt that much anymore. She just wanted to find the Doctor and explore with him. If she pretended that she wasn't hurt, then maybe walking would be a little easier. Before attempting to stand once more, she took the torch which she had left lying on her stomach and turned it on, quickly using the light to look around the room she was in properly. The console was still emitting some sort of smoke or steam, which told her the crash must have been bad, and she was probably lucky to have come off with nothing worse than a sprained ankle. For that, at least, she was thankful. But she needed to get out and find the Doctor. The thoughts that would fill her mind in the darkness were far more painful that anything she felt she could do to her leg at this point. So with a deep breath, Clara picked up her courage and pushed herself up off the chair.

**AN: **Hi guys, hope you're enjoying this now. It's just getting started, I promise you, and it'll be great! If you'd like to review, I'd love it. Feedback and suggestions are appreciated!


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